Staring Into the Night
by Sofie
Summary: Rent-fic, wherin things just aren't working out anymore.


AN: Thanks a million to Fianna who beta read it for me. I love you, you know that.   
  
STARING INTO THE NIGHT  
  
  
Joanne shuffled through the pile of paper lying in front of her on the kitchen table, sighing in frustration when she couldn't find the contract she was looking for. She ran a hand through her hair as she debated calling Steve to ask if he knew where it had disappeared to. Then she looked at her watch and decided against it. Two thirty in the morning probably wasn't the best time to call your colleague, even if there was no doubt he was still awake. Joanne didn't know how Steve did it, but somehow he managed to stay alive on four hours of sleep every night. Staring at the documents she still had to go through, she decided that that was probably a very good quality in a lawyer.   
  
She went to the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee, the seventh in the last four hours. She looked at her watch again. Two forty. Two forty, and Maureen still wasn't home. Joanne tried to tell herself that she didn't mind. That it was a good thing that Maureen wasn't there, because it was usually impossible to get any work done when she was. The rare peace and quiet were welcomed, but Joanne still couldn't shake off the feeling deep inside that told her Maureen didn't want to come home. Obviously she had better things to do at two forty in the morning than to be at home with her girlfriend. Joanne held the coffee-mug in both hands, trying to get some heat into her cold fingers. The heat had broken down. Again. It was the third time this month. The landlord seemed to think that a working heating system was redundant in New York in February. Joanne reminded herself to look for apartments in the paper the next morning.   
  
Taking a sip of her coffee she went into the bedroom. The first thing that caught her attention was, as always, the enlarged framed photograph hanging above the queen-sized bed. The bed was too small for the both of them, since they tended to move around a lot during the night, but Maureen had had a fit of feminism when they were bedshopping and had refused to buy anything king-sized. The photograph had been taken last New Year's Eve, by who, she didn't remember. It was a great picture. They were all in it. Roger had one arm around Mimi and the other one around Mark, all three of them caught in a moment of hysterical laughter. Collins had his hands on Angel's waist, whispering something in his ear that made the latter smile hugely and even blush a little. Even Benny was in the photo, standing slightly to the side, a small smile reluctantly gracing his lips. Joanne couldn't help but smile herself as her gaze locked on the couple in the middle of the group. She and Maureen, kissing, hands entangled in each other's hair. For once, Maureen was completely oblivious to the camera. That picture had really captured a moment.   
  
Funny, it was only a bit over a year ago, and yet everything was so different now. Mark had finally tired of living on the edge of starvation. He crawled back to Alexi Darling, who'd gladly given him a job. He didn't complain about it much, but Joanne knew that he despised himself for 'selling his soul'. Mimi and Roger rarely left the loft nowadays. They found it safer inside, fiercely protecting each other from the evils of the world. No one really knew what Benny was doing, no one really cared. Collins was in Santa Fe, pursuing a dream and Angel was dead. At least now Joanne had come to that point where she was able to think those words without wanting to cry. It had taken a long time to get there.   
  
As for her and Maureen's relationship... well, it certainly wasn't the same anymore. Joanne tore her eyes away from the picture and sighed. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and went over to the window. The radiator was freezing cold, she realised, as she put her hand on it. Yes, finding a new apartment was definitely on top of her to do list. She lay the pillow on the carpet, right next to the coffee stain that was about two months old. It was the result of one of their countless fights, when Maureen had thrown her coffee mug across the room in a sudden rage. Joanne normally hated all kinds of stains and dirt, but she was actually quite relieved that the mug had landed on the carpet that time. It had been aimed at her. She frowned at the memory as she sat down on the pillow, putting her arms around her knees. On another one of these lonely nights she had discovered that if she sat down on this exact spot on the floor and tilted her head at the exact right angle, she could see a slice of the sky behind the tall buildings that made New York's silhouette. There weren't any stars tonight though, she noted in disappointment. But somehow she had expected that, it fitted the mood of the evening. She didn't do this often, she didn't daydream, didn't fantasise. But sometimes on nights like this one, she felt the need to escape from her own life. More and more frequently, lately. It felt as though all she and Maureen did nowadays was fight. They had always done that, it was a vital part of their relationship, they fought with the same passion they loved. And, well, everything ever said about make up sex was true. But now most of the love was gone, replaced with even more anger and frustration.  
  
Joanne closed her eyes as she heard a key in the door. Or, as she heard someone trying to put the key in the door. She rose to her feet and went to open it. Maureen looked up, surprised.   
  
"Pookie!" she exclaimed, giving Joanne a wet, sloppy kiss on the mouth. "You didn't have to wait up for me."  
  
"I was working," Joanne said and winced when Maureen stumbled on a shoe and fell against the mirror.   
  
"Oops," Maureen giggled, continuing, "you know, there is a word for people like you, who work all the time." Then she frowned. "I don't remember it right now, but there is a word."  
  
"I'm sure there is," Joanne mumbled, closing the door and following Maureen into the kitchen, where Maureen nearly stumbled again, this time over an amplifier standing on the floor.  
  
"Look! It's my amplifier," Maureen announced. "Have you fixed it?"  
  
"No, I haven't had the time," Joanne said, waiting for the storm she knew would come.  
  
Maureen immediately stood up straighter and seemed less drunk. "But you promised to fix it. I need it for my show tomorrow, you know that."  
  
"I know, but I'm working on a very important case here. I do have a real job."  
  
"Oh, so what I do is just a hobby?" Maureen spat.  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
"That's exactly what you meant, Joanne," Maureen said, and Joanne knew she was right.  
  
"Look, I know you love what you do," she tried, "but I love being a lawyer. That's what I do. I'm not your sound technician. I went to..."  
  
"To Harvard, yes I know," Maureen interrupted, now sounding completely sober. "You keep telling me. I know you're smarter than me, you don't have to throw it in my face all the time."  
  
"Maureen-"  
  
"Tell me one thing. Why haven't you ever introduced me to any of your old friends? Tell me that. You're ashamed of me, aren't you?"   
  
"That is not true," Joanne said, but she couldn't even convince herself.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Maureen said and went out in the hall again.   
  
"Where are you going?" Joanne called, following her.   
  
"To the loft. I don't need a college education to know when I'm not wanted."  
  
"Oh, stop it! You have to leave. Why do you have to be such a fucking drama queen all the time?"  
  
Maureen turned and looked at Joanne, her hand resting on the door handle. "You really don't get it, do you?" she said softly. "It's part of who I am. It IS who I am." She opened the door.   
  
"I love you," Joanne said, sounding defeated.   
  
"I love you too. But apparently that's not enough."  
  
"So this is it?" Joanne said quietly.  
  
"Yes, I guess it is," Maureen answered. "I'll come and get my stuff tomorrow when you're at work." With a sad smile she left and closed the door behind her.   
  
Joanne stood in the hall, staring after her for a couple of minutes. Funny, she thought. She'd imagined it would hurt more. Then she sighed and went to sit down at the kitchen table. She still had a lot of work to do.   
  
  
The End.  
  
  
This fic was inspired by the song Breaking My Heart, that's written by Jasha Richter of Michael Learns To Rock. 


End file.
